


Seagulls Effect

by MissLucifess



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oral Sex, Other, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychologist Tony Stark, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Unhealthy Relationships, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLucifess/pseuds/MissLucifess
Summary: Many people visit psychologists, Buck, told him his old childhood friend with a special calm voice that he only got after he became Captain America.





	Seagulls Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Another work that I started month ago...  
> To give a little background: I'm a psychologist student and I will use some knowledge in my work but it will be NOT how an actually  
> session or how to handle a patient.  
> Tony's motive and behaviour is NOT how you would do it.  
> It's fiction and for readers - it's entertainment like in all movies and it only uses a little bit actually knowledge  
> about it.

_Seagulls Effect_

_1_

_Antonio Collin Carbonell_

 

First of all, he saw the big, black-white painting of a war field; corpses everywhere, soldiers with minor or serious injuries on the ground, not a battle of a king, a battle of World War Two and the man felt the stifling feeling of fear inside him, his old self.

Not the soldier.

The soldier was not necessarily pleased about the aspect of violence; he did not particularly enjoy killing, it was a necessary evil and his handler didn't care about waisted human lifes rather than money and power.

The soldier only cared about the violence when his mind was to full of the memories; the missed opportunities, not these for the good old Bucky but the choices for the soldier himself.

After all, the soldier was a man with his own aims.

_Not anymore._

_No more failed possibilities._

 

“Well, this piece of art was made by an unknown French painter but gained a lot of attention over the past years”, startled the man turned around to see an extremely handsome male being in a red and silver tailored suit. It was a strange appearance; however, the person wore it so fashionably that Steve himself would be gasped at him like Bucky did. “In my opinion, it is _kind_ , just _kind_. Maybe too _kind_ because it's so honest to its viewers. The painter really wanted to show the victory of a powerful nation against another one.”

“ _Just kind_?”

“Well, it's always a question of the perspective, right? _Just kind_ doesn't mean that it is kind as the common meaning itself but _just kind_ can mean to kill somebody without choice. Or without mercy. _Just kind_ can be the answer for so many possibilities that it would be a shame to forget it.

Look at the soldier on the left side – a man that helped an injured _locomotive engineer_ , this hint, of course, was the little symbol on his _cap,_ is _just kind_ but we will never know what his final destiny was. Is that not _just kind_? To dream higher than the sun itself?”

The man had a moustache that runs all the way down to his cheeks, then straight to his chin making an enclosed form, with a small goatee as well on his upper chin. He was Caucasian or had at least a Caucasian looking skin, and, for Bucky, it was like the sun would shine in a week full of rainy and dark days.

He cleared his throat. “I don't know anything about art. That's Stevie’s thing.”

“Don't interpret to much in it”, the other made a dismissive gesture. “Miss Friday changes the paintings or photos all the time. Many of my patient find it confusing the first times but what can old little me do?”

A laugh.

Bucky felt like the air was on fire and the light lost his intensity.

“Ah, I never introduced myself, what a jerk am I? I'm Antonio Collin Carbonell, your prestigious psychologist for your pretty mind and general well-being on a more body less level.

I like _The Hobbit_ more than _The Lord Of The Rings –_ trilogy and I rather listening to _Backstreet Boys_ than _Justin Bieber_. It's more a fashion choice, you know?”

Bucky nodded slowly and tried to process everything; this flashy Mister Carbonell, _Antonio_ , his need for so much speaking and these smiles sent at him like _he_ was special and not the charity case of government organisation for later missions.

A _soldier._

Perhaps he wanted to help, later lesser than in the time where he was _actually_ a Sergeant, nevertheless he felt like he didn't belong in this world any more – a curse for his crimes against nature, against his own kind.

“Don't worry your pretty head about it”, after some minutes, Carbonell spoke again to Bucky. “But _I_ would rather sit in this comfortable chair in my room with two espressi, one for you of course, than to stand here for twenty minutes for nothing. Not that I would complain but this painting makes me uncomfortable, don't you think?”

They went to Antonio's office, left behind four other rooms in a world of clean whiteness. Perhaps it was common for a psychological institute, Bucky, after all, would never visit such a thing in the 40s but today, you didn't need to be afraid against it.

_Many people visit psychologists, Buck_ , told him his old childhood friend with a special calm voice that he only got after he became Captain America. _Nothing to be afraid of or to be ashamed. Not only civilises. Soldiers need this too and I think, maybe, it would helped us back in time too._

“Ah, home sweet home, everyone loves a good, old work space with the little spicy touch for a home – and their story’s, the good old one, tell me, Mister...?”

“Barnes, sir, but you can call me Bucky. It used to be my name.”

The chair was good enough, better than the ones in his prison, but it didn't helped that Bucky was not in the mood to meet the eyes of a certain doctor.

On the short table, next to Carbonell but more in Bucky's space, were two mugs full of _espressi._

“Did you know, Bucky, that nobody can actually read your thoughts? Besides, naturally, magical beings and superpower guys? Every time you hear that I could read the shit of their brains or could control them like an animal – we rather don't speak about the circumstance that we _all_ are animals. To get the point, ah, can you give me espresso? Pretty please? My brain is dead without one!”

Bucky frowned but, well, gave him the coffee.

“Thank you” laughed Antonio. “Tell me, Bucky, what is your biggest dream?”

_My biggest dream...?_

“My biggest dream...?”

“Yeah like you want to visit the moon, kiss the president or I don't know, live a farmer life in Texas?”

“To live, I think.”

“To live? Well done, my friend, it seems that you succeeded it. Congratulations!”

 The soldier frowned in him.

“No, Bucky”, said Mister Carbonell with a rather stern face. “We speak about a dream besides our minimum...being. Soldiers often dream about their families.”

“I am not a common soldier.”

“You mean, you were special”, asked the man, looking at the painting behind him.

“I like to believe that was the case.”

“In a sense, yes, you were special”, he glanced to him, a light smile on his face. It made him so young and Bucky thought how someone like him could understand him. “But, at the end, you were only a soldier. Nothing special.”

“I was brainwashed. I killed for a fucking secret nazi organisation that wanted to take over the world.”

Bucky Barnes was not angry, but he felt the soldier and he felt him and the heat, so much heat. The old daemons, in his body without mercy and he wanted to scream at this guy, regardless how attractive he was.

“Tell me, little old me, where were the difference between a _fucking nazi organisation_ and the ordinary united states of America? Is the result of war, and you know it is always the same, better if you were a soldier against nazi? The right reason makes a death right fuller?”

Silence.

“I don't believe so.”

“What do you want to hear, _doctor_?”

“Oh, I personally don't care about those little things, silly me, but it's important to you. Because _now_ you know a little goal _after_ the war.”

Bucky frowned again. He didn't understand a single fuck what the man was talking about, perhaps, he should not think about how Antonio's skin would look...after a good old _spanking_. And how the younger would react, he liked to think that he would beg for more.

“What?”

“ _You_ want to be _special_. To someone, maybe, a new chapter in your life – like every soldier. It is nothing to be ashamed about – everyone wishes to be _more_ than only a worm in the dirt.”

 


End file.
